Like Cattle to Slaughter: District 10 Hunger Games
by Misharoyuki
Summary: The 30th annual Capitol funded bloodbath: After a decade of domination by the career Districts, all the other tributes form an alliance in hopes of finally defeating them. 18 against a mere 6-the hunters becomes the hunted. They should succeed...right?
1. Life in District 10

**AN: I don't own anything; the hunger games belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. **

**I know a lot of people make up their own version of Hunger Games, but mine is different? I made sure the OCs weren't Mary-sue. I tried to go for characters with depth and weaknesses. I avoided the usually formula. This time I wanted to try to make something unique, by making all the other tributes form an alliance together against the Careers.**

**Plus I had to show some love to District 10-it's is hardly mentioned in the books. It was tons of fun researching about what life is probably like in the livestock district. Herding animals is totally cool. Yes it is. **

**I'm trying to update daily. The first five chapters may be a little slow, but chapter six really picks it up. Please read and review!  
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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

The sun hasn't even risen yet, but I know it is nearly dawn from the increased frantic activity of the insects and birds. If it was any other day, I would be waking up right about now to get dressed, eat breakfast and graze the family cattle until sunset. But today was not just any other day, it was Reaping Day. That's why I have been riding hard for two hours, heading towards the center of District 10 where all eligible children has to gather for the reaping ceremony.

The ground is still hard from the early morning frost. My horse Cyclops trudges across it unhappily, his breath frosts in the cold air. He lost one eye in an encounter with a bear, but he is a good horse, and the best we can afford at the moment. I pat him on the neck and dismount, giving him some water from a container. The water is cold enough to numb my hand. When you are as far up north as district 10, the early mornings are brutally chilly.

My sister Darley is in the wagon behind me; she peers out and smiles at me, holding her swollen stomach. I relieved to see that she looks okay and is covered with many blankets. She is four month pregnant, but still eighteen. Her husband, Fresian, is steering the wagon. He is eighteen as well. By law, they still both have to attend the reaping. I think this is really senseless of the capitol. What is the point of making my sister make this trek? Even if we all have to be in the same place at the time of the reaping, there is no way they'll make Darley participate if she was reaped…right?

Fresian pulls on the reins, stopping Etobicoke and Mississauga, our two big stock horses pulling the wagon. We are taking a quick break. As the second eldest boy, I've been riding in front to find a path, but now the sun is going to come up, so we'll be okay. My two younger brothers, Shire and Morgan are giggling inside the wagon. From the annoyed voice of my younger sister Mino (her full name is Palomino, but she insists we call her Mino), they are probably playing pranks on her. I don't know how they manage to be so carefree on reaping day. I was certainly very grim. Then again, they are so young their names are entered only once or twice, so what are the chances they'll be reaped?

It is just logic, I tell myself. There is no way I'll be reaped either. Our family is very well off, despite being big. Our land and livestock are extensive. We even hire other workers to help us. I've never needed tesserae in my life. I know Fresian might have several times though, before he came to work for us.

I decide being reaped is like taking care of cattle. When I graze the cattle I'm in charge of (technically they are father's and mother's cattle), I know there are 500 of them. Once in a while, I lose one when a coyote attacks. I have some extremely good specimens of cattle of which I take special care, so I can use them as breeding stock, or sell them at market. Those are my favourites. Out of 500 cattle, the chances of a coyote attacking one of the ten or twenty favourites are extremely low.

But that's just it. What if we are picked? The children of District 10 are like cattle, presented to the salivating Capitol in neat little lines on Reaping Day. If picked, our slaughter for their enjoyment is assured. Shire and Morgan, they are so spirited, but they are only twelve. What can they do against the towering wolves of the arena? And Mino, who is only fourteen, may be cunning and strong from shepherding sheep, but she's so small.

I shake the thoughts from my head as I see Fresian motions me over with a smile.

Before he married my sister, he used to help graze horses. But now he is in charge of livestock accounts and shipments to the Capitol. He is two years older than me, but treats me like a friend and an equal. We used to play wrestle in the grass, and he taught me how to make bird calls and whistles.

"Doing okay, Roan?" Fresian ruffles my dark, brown-red hair and places a wide brimmed cowboy hat on my head. It's a good idea; I don't want to get sunburned later. In District 10, the weather loves to swing between two extremes.

"Drink some water," Darley says. Leaning over with some effort, she places a canteen in my hands and watches me so I actually drink it. All grazers know it's important to not dehydrate, but for some reason I've never needed much water. Maybe it's because I'm not that big.

"Are _you_ doing okay?" I asked Darley. She nods happily and slings her arm around her husband, who kisses her. I think those two still going through post marital bliss, even though they got married a year ago. They are just that much in love, I guess. I hope one day I'll find someone to love just as much.

"Morgan! Stop pulling my dress!" Mino shrieks from inside the wagon. I hear a slap.

"Owww!" Morgan moans, "It was Shire! It wasn't me!"

"I've been telling you not to pull it," Mino says, "Now look what you've done! You've stretched it permanently!"

Everyone except for Fresian and I are in their Reaping outfits. Oddly enough, they are the fanciest and best looking clothes in our wardrobe. We are like lambs dressed for the roast.

"Stop fighting," Darley lightly scolds our siblings. She is dressed in a lovely pearl dress that floats like a cloud. It reminds me eerily of her wedding dress. Maybe the material was recycled.

"I'm hungry," Shire grumbles. And that causes us to stop and set up camp just as the sun comes up. I collect firewood while the twins collect rocks for Fresian to start a fire. I'm terrible at starting fires. Once I caused a forest fire on one of father's mountains. Luckily a heavy rain fell not five minutes after, so there was minimal damage to plants or livestock. After that though, no one has trusted me with flint. My mother said she couldn't believe how someone as clever and level-headed as me could have been so destructive accidentally.

We set up a proper cooking pan on the fire, and Fresian makes District 10 bread. It is unique because unlike the bread from other districts, it is made from batter, not dough. It cooks in only three minutes to accommodate the D10's roaming lifestyle. In the end, the bread ends up golden brown, flat, and circular. It tastes semi sweet, but the flavour can be improved by adding some concentrated tree sap from the plentiful maple trees available in District 10.

We cook some corn and beans as well, and Mino thoughtfully peels some apples for us. I estimate the time to be nearly 7:00 when we set off again. The Reaping is in four hours.

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><p>When we reach some shallow water that was once known as the 'Great Lakes', I slow down. The Market District, where the reaping occurs in 10, is only an hour's ride away if I follow the train tracks. We have plenty of time.<p>

Fresian stops and let the horses drink from the lake. I play some stick game with Shire, and then all of us try to make some bird noises. Fresian is the best at it, while Morgan's loon sounds good, but his sparrow sounds like a screeching dying madwoman. Mino can whistle a good chickadee, and we all laugh in glee with a distant bird responds to her call. For a short moment, all the tension of the Hunger Games is forgotten.

When we get to the market district, it is already crowded; despite the fact we are two hours early. Anyone person of eligible age who is not in the town square at 11:00 is publicly executed, so I guess that's the reason. The reaping happens at different times in each district, so the Capitol citizens can watch it live. Usually they make all the District's adults attend the reaping too, but it is different in District 10, where the livestock don't graze themselves. Goodness forbids the Capitol's precious meat all starve to death right? Instead the adults will have to watch a replay tonight. If their TV doesn't tune in on time, they will get into big trouble.

After Fresian and I change into our reaping clothes, we leave our horses and wagons in a holding room, which is already crammed with travelling gears from other families trekking into market district. The room is guarded from thieves by Peacekeepers in white uniform, holding guns. There is a rule in District 10 that only allows 1 gun for each family. Guns are extremely expensive and heavily regulated too. This is spectacularly annoying. If we had more guns, we would be able to defend our livestock way better. The Capitol rule makers in their cushy seats have no idea how dangerous it is in some areas of 10. We get all sorts of starving, nasty wild animals. Sometimes there are stray mutts too. Then again I can understand why the rule exists without anyone telling me. The Capitol doesn't want District 10 to be too well equipped, do they? We might just try to rebel or something.

We eat some leftover fruit and then file towards the crowded, humid Town Square. It is noisy as a huge screen is set up to broadcast the reaping to us live. There are ropes to separate us by age. Fresian and Darley kiss one last time and separates, Darley with her hands protection her swollen stomach. As eighteen year olds, they'll be standing in the front.

"Listen, you two," I hiss to Shire and Morgan over the nervous chatter. It is their first trip here, so they are bewildered and excited. I worry that they might think it is all an adventure and cause some trouble, "Don't ever let go of each other's hands, okay? Don't get lost in the crowds. Stay quiet and it will be okay. If you can't find us after the reaping, go to the holding room and sit in our wagon."

Shire and Morgan nods up at me and clasps each other's hands tightly. They've seen the pointless slaughter from the Hunger Games on television before, so they are getting scared as it all starts to sink in. I watch them as they get into place.

I look at my sister Mino, whose milky brown hair is in pigtails. She slaps my back; her face which is empty of emotion is a mask of my own. Placing her hands on her hips, Mino leaves to joins some of her friends in the fourteen years old section. She'll be okay.

I take a deep breath and head to my place. There are peacekeepers everywhere and the square is packed. Despite the sun bearing down on us, we are made to remove our hats, so the cameras can get good shots of our faces. I think about Darley and hope she'll be okay in the heat. I stand straight up; the breeze ruffles my dark hair. I catch a glimpse of myself on screen as they test out the cameras. There are rows and rows of District 10 children standing anxiously in the heat.

_Cattle lining for slaughter,_ I think.

Then it starts.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment about what you think. I'd really appreciate it! <strong>

**Do you guys have any other ideas about life in District 10? I would love to hear your suggestions. **

**The action with pick up soon, I promise.  
><strong>


	2. The Reaping Begins

**CHAPTER 2**

This is probably a good time to mention that no one has ever won from District 10. The only other districts with such dubious distinctions are; 3: where everyone is sickly and skinny from working in the factories, 8: for the same reason, and 12. Let's not even talk about the poor coal district, where no one even has enough to eat. But really, even District 5 and 6 have won at least once before, and all they are in charge of are power and transportation which gives them no natural advantages what so ever. So why not District 10?

There are been at least 7 or 8 times in the past games where a D10 tribute got really close to winning. Then suddenly, some disaster or unexpected fight kills the tributes off. Physically, our district has an advantage, from all the animals we have to work with. All the grazers and shepherds have amazing stamina and knowledge of nature from their outdoor work. If we weren't so far away from each other all the time, we might even be a career district. But no, what district 10 lacks the most is luck. Lady luck has never held us in her favour. If we were just a bit luckier, we could probably win as many times as the District 7 lumberjacks do.

On the raised platform are two huge glass balls, filled to the brim with paper slips. We are a fairly big district, spread out, but fairly big. Our mayor, who has a huge stomach, is sitting heavily in one of the chairs. I've only seen him four times before, at past reapings. Since we don't have any mentor, a Capitol trainer sits in for us. He is a tall, slender man who holds himself with grace. The tan arms that are exposed under his Capitol uniform are very well muscled. His long black hair is tied into a braid. I'm glad to see he doesn't have any weird body altercations like some of the more peculiar Capitol trainers we've had in the past. The one for our district last year had horns bulging out from his forehead. Creepy.

Meanwhile, our white skinned capitol representative is flitting across the stage, trying to chat with everybody. He is throwing "How you doin'?"s to all the eighteen year olds close to the stage, who responds with negative enthusiasm. In the sixteen year old section, I am fairly close to the stage, so I hear him shriek and run down. He's spotted my sister Darley and now he is patting her stomach lovingly, making cooing noises. Two sections in front of me, I spot Fresian's red hair. He is tensing up. Darley, however, is humouring the representative. I get the feeling that they are chatting about baby names. What a stupid man.

"Is his skin bleached or something?" The brown hair boy next to me asks. The pure white skin is not even the spectacular part, the spectacular part is the representative's wig, which is blue and falls to the floor, like a waterfall.

"They are crazy," I tell him, "I bet they have a secret district tucked away somewhere that just makes wigs and dyes." The boy laughs.

"I wouldn't put it past them," he says, "What's your name?"

"Roan Atwood," I tell him. My parents say we are descended from a famous Lady once upon a time. I wouldn't know who she is because D10 doesn't really study history from before the uprising.

"I'm Bracken Throwbred," the boy shakes my hand and grin, "How many times are you entered?"

I do a mental calculation, "Five times, you?"

"I'm entered 45 times," Bracken tells me. He must have a lot of siblings and took tesserae for all of them.

"Sorry," I tell him. He just shrugs and cracks a joke about the representative's hair and toilet water. I can tell we might become friends. I think he's spent the whole day convincing himself that he will get picked, just so he is ready. It is the opposite of what's I've done.

We talk a bit more, and the Capitol anthem starts playing. Our annoying representative, whose name I learn is Alabaster, flits over to the microphone and greets all of us. "Hoooolwdy, EH?" He tries to greet us in what he thinks is the customary greeting in D10. It is not. Besides, he butchered the pronunciation with his heavy capitol accent.

"Ladies and GENTS! Welcome to the 30th annual Hunger Games!" Alabaster makes a speech about the origin of the hunger games. It's the same one every year. Then he shows us a heavily edited video of the history of Panem. It is hot and crammed full in the sixteen year old section, and everyone just wants to go home.

The big screen lights up behind him, and we see a projection of the reaping in the other districts. It's hard to distinguish anything, because it is so bright. I can tell that District one and District two already has tributes set aside for the games. They are big and dangerous eighteen year olds. The male tribute from District 2 sticks in my mind because he looks slightly like Fresian, with his build and red hair.

About two decades ago, the rich Districts, 1, 2 and 4 decided to train their tributes. That is the origin of the careers. I think it was ten or twelve years ago, when a female tribute from District 4 named Maggie or something came up with a strategy to ally all the careers together. The pack of six well trained, well fed people easily hunted down everyone else in the competition. This strategy has been utilised for every game since Maggie won hers. It was really hard for a non career district to win after that.

The district three tributes are smaller than even me, though the boy is eighteen. The girl, who has the most naturally pale skin I've ever seen, is breaking into sobs. The boy seems to be holding it together with a grim expression. Maybe he has a plan.

District four has a wealth of volunteers clambering to become tribute. The girl who wins the honour is small and short, with pale orange hair and a smattering of freckles, but she looks like a survivor.

In district five, the two young children of the only past winner is reaped at the same time. The camera cuts away quickly to focus on the shocked expression of their parent, who is sitting in the mentor chair. I decide the camera moved a bit too quickly for it to have been a coincidence. The siblings both have resigned looks on their faces as they shake hands. They've been told to expect this very situation.

In district six the tributes picked are too sickly and weak looking to have much chance. It is the opposite in district seven, where both the boy and girl are big and buff from years of chopping down trees. Usually, district seven usually has tributes that are all brawn and no brain, but I can see glimmers of intelligence in this pair's faces. The boy is especially intimidating, with his spiky, rebellious black hair, because not only does he seem to be cunning, he also rivals the careers in terms of his size.

District eight produces some sickly factory kids too. The boy seems to be nearly dying, coughing constantly. Both tributes look tired and resigned as no one volunteers for them. They are goners.

It is with shock that I realize our reaping is right after district nine's. The tributes from nine seem to have some chances. The girl has dark black hair and looks very prepared. The boy is snarling, and for some reason his face reminds me of our Capitol trainer's.

Then it was District 10 showing up on the big screen. Alabaster skips over to the large glass bowls.

"Drumrolls please!" He says, swirling his hand around and picking up a slip of paper. No one gives him a drum roll, but my thumping heart is anticipation enough.

"The female tribute for district 10!" Alabaster says, scanning the piece of paper. His pale face shows up big in the screen, and then it cuts over to the girls waiting in terse anticipation. There, in the first row, is my sister Darley holding her stomach. _Not her please_. I think desperately. She might lose her baby in the shock.

Alabaster trills, "For the 30th annual Hunger Games, the female tribute is… Palomino—"

I realized that he is calling the name of my other sister. I turn to stone.

"—Isaac!" Alabaster continues after a dramatic pause. All the blood in my veins had frozen, and took a while to thaw out before I realized it wasn't my sister Mino's name that was called. She's safe! It was just another girl with the same first name. That's all. I tear my face away from the screen and look for Mino in the fourteen year old line. She is still frozen in shock while her friends squeezed her hands in relief. Meanwhile a crying girl is dragged up to the platform from the fifteen year old section. The girl has the same shade of milky brown hair as my sister. It is even the same length. Her dress is even the same colour. It was too close. Too dangerously close.

When the peacekeepers drag her on the stage, Alabaster makes a sympathetic tutting noise, and pats her chin. I notice he tries to avoid touching her as much as possible. I see the mentor from the Capitol silently sizing her up. We both know this Palomino will probably die in the bloodbath on the first day. The cameras close up on her crying face. She has freckles, unlike anyone from my family. Watching the hunger games this year will be a painful ordeal for us. We will only see Mino in her.

"Any volunteers for Palamino Isaac?" Alabaster asks. A large crowd of teenagers has never been as silent or as still as it was now.

"Right. Onto the boys then," Alabaster smile and hop on over to the other glass bowl holding the names of tributes. Bracken besides me tenses up.

"The male tribute for District 10!" Alabaster announces, holding up a piece of paper in the air. The camera closes up on it. It was just a tiny piece of paper, but at the same time it carried someone's death sentence.

"Shire Atwood!" Alabaster announces gleefully.

The name meant nothing to him, but it means everything to me. My world ended. I barely escape my sister's reaping to hear my little brother's name get called.

I hear a shriek behind me. It was Morgan's voice, or was it Shire's? They are screaming over each other. I frantically scan the crowd, but I can't see them over all the heads. Instead I look up at the giant screen. The camera was closing up on the tragic twins, desperately clinging onto each other. Two peacekeepers have managed to grab Morgan. They were still holding onto each others hands like I ordered them to as the peacekeepers tried to separate them. There is some confusion because I can tell they didn't know which one Shire was. But they didn't seem to care, as long as they got one.

"STOP IT!" I heard Shire shriek as he clawed at Morgan's hand and tried to pull him back, "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG ONE!"

"Any volunteers then?" Alabaster shouted into the microphone with his fingers in his ears.

I catch something in the corner of my eye.

It was Fresian. He was making eye contact with my sister, whose face was ashen pale and whose mouth was wide open.

Fresian was slowly raising his right hand. I couldn't let him do that.

This is when time stopped for me. In a tiny fraction of a second, I was flooded with realizations. Back at home, he was needed more than I was. He has a wife, he will have a child.

"Any volunteers?" Alabaster shouted again. The sounds of the crowd came rushing back to me. I shoved past Bracken, making as much commotion as possible.

"ME!" I scream, "I VOLUNTEER!"

I all but dash to the platform. Grimly, I notice myself on the giant screen. I was giving the capitol citizens quite a show. There was no way they won't accept me in my little brother's place.

Alabaster motions me up onto the stage. I can hear the twins shouting in the background. In the first row, my sister Darley suddenly collapses, but several girls around her catches her in time.

"Well, well, what's your name?" Alabaster asks me in his grating capitol accent.

"Roan," I tell him, "Roan Atwood." I don't even shake. I was twice as scared earlier when Mino's name was nearly called. Now I'm even calm.

"Wait-" Fresian speaks up from his place, but a peacekeeper butts his stomach with a gun. No one volunteers for a volunteer.

"Lets give a loud round of applause for our brave District 10 tributes!" Alabaster cries. Everyone claps loudly and enthusiastically after they narrowly avoid death. Their applause sounds like peals of thunder. I remember to keep my head tall. It is like dealing with wolves. When they draw close, you can not be scared. You have to look brave, put on a show, but never, ever make eye contact.

Or you'll get swallowed alive.

...

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><p><strong>Wow people are actually reading my story? Thanks! Reviews are much appreciated and probably rewarded. <strong>

**I'd love to hear your suggestions about life in D10. Maybe we can work out something together and I'll stick it in. :D **

**'til next time!  
><strong>


	3. No Goodbyes needed

**CHAPTER 3**

In the waiting room I'm put in, all my siblings visit me one by one. Morgan is first. He runs to me and hugs me. His head reaches slightly above my stomach. I feel his tears past the thin material of my shirt.

"Don't cry," I tell him. And his tears dry up immediately. He may be twelve but he is strong. I can tell he'll grow up to be an outstanding young man.

"You and Shire will have to take care of the cattle I leave behind, okay?" I ask him, and he nods reverently. I feel like he wants to say something to me, but he can't open his mouth without tears coming out again. Instead, he stays silent, giving me a look before he leaves. The looks is enough.

...

Shire is next. He runs to me babbling.

"They wanted to take Morgan!" He shouts, "And they are taking you away too!" Shire has tears streaming down both cheeks. The way to deal with Morgan is different from the way to deal with Shire.

"Don't worry, I'll do fine," I hug him, "Make sure everyone stays strong. Cheer me on, okay?"

"…so scared," Shire mumbles into my shirt. Then he leaves after giving me a fierce hug. Shire takes care of others first.

...

When Mino steps into the room, she gives me an order.

"You'd better come back," She tells me, "Or I'm selling all of your stuff. Then I will cell Cyclops to a glue factory in District 8. Then I will eat your favourite cattle."

I think she is putting a tough act on for my sake. From her red eyes I can tell she was crying.

"Make sure you do," I tell her, "Not that you'll get a chance to, because I'm coming back."

"You'd better," Mino threatens one last time. If they send you back in a bucket, I will be so angry."

In a way, I think Mino is a lot like our mother. She is very pretty, but she is also tough, in a loving way. But mother and father don't even know I'm in the games yet, they'll have to find out later tonight.

"Tell mom and dad that I love them, even though I was always the difficult child."

"You are not difficult, just intelligent," Mino hits me. So I guess she is allowed to insult me, but I'm not allowed to insult myself.

Mino continues talking, giving me more compliments that I've ever heard her give anyone in her life, "You got all the brains in the family. I've never seen a better herder. You better put your skills to good use, okay?"

"Alright," I tell her.

"If all else fails, just start a fire. I'm sure with your skills, you'll actually kill everyone accidentally," Mino tells me, getting slightly wide eyed.

"I love you." I tell her. We've always had a rivalry. I think that's the first time I said that to her face. She hugs me so hard I swear my shoulder bones popped out of their sockets.

"One last thing," She whispers to me, "That girl in the game with you, the one who has my name and looks kinda like me?"

"Don't hesitate to kill her." Mino says.

...

My sister Darley recovered from her faint spell earlier on. I know this because as soon as she enters the room, she slaps me, hard. I think I saw stars. Then she gives me a big hug. Over her stomach, I feel her baby kick while we talk.

"You know your assets," She said softly. Her hair tickles my face as I lean into her embrace. I try to memorize everything.

"I can use a staff, and a slingshot," I tell her. My hand is on her stomach. It is the niece or nephew I will never know.

"Don't forget the lasso and the knife," Darley says, "Skin a rabbit in front of the gamekeepers. They'll love that."

"I don't think I'll find a rabbit anywhere in the Capitol," I sigh.

"Your biggest asset is your cleverness," Darley tells me. Everyone is telling me that today, but I'm starting to doubt myself. After all, you don't win the Hunger Games by being cleverest. You win by being the biggest, or the strongest, or the luckiest.

"I have all faith in you," Darley kisses me on the forehead.

"I'll come back," I say, more to convince myself more than anyone else.

"No matter what, my child will be named after you," Darley tells me.

I blink. That is the best way to be remembered, ever.

"Are you sure?" I ask her. What if I die? Then the memory will be too much.

"For sure," Darley pats my hand and leaves. No goodbyes said.

...

Fresian gives me his wedding band. I tell him that I can't accept it.

"You saved my family, you save my life. You deserve this," Fresian rolls the simple silver metal band into my hand. His and Darley's name are engraved on it.

"When I return as victor, I'll give it back," I tell him. He nods and we shake hands.

An oath between men.

...

I'm surprised when Bracken enters the room. He has somehow convinced the Peacekeepers we were friends.

"You forgot this," Bracken shows me my black cowboy hat. I had dropped it when I dashed to the platform. I laugh.

"I don't think I need it anymore, why don't you keep it?"

"I'll certainly keep it safe for you," Bracken puts the hat on his head, "It'll be right here when you come back for it, okay?"

"Of course," I grin. We become new best friends. We spend the rest of my ten minutes of time planning the rest of our lives.

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><p><strong>It's a short chapter this time, but I'm trying to update everyday. Reviews will always be appreciated.<strong>


	4. On the Train to Slaughter

**CHAPTER 4**

I find Alabaster, our District's Capitol Representative, extremely annoying. He is probably in his thirties, but acts younger than me. I wondered how he manages to not trip over his overly long, blue wig. I was so curious that I decide to step on it on the train, just to see what happens.

"OW!" He cries when I trap his aqua tips with the edge of my boot. Wow, his hair is actually real. How is this possible? My sister Mino's hair only reaches mid back. She spend all of her fourteen year old childhood herding sheep and chasing off coyotes, but here is this one capitol guy who is excessive enough to only need to worry about growing his _hair_.

"Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, and walk away. I see the Capitol Trainer's sly smile, his sharp cheekbones cutting into the air. Him, I might actually tolerate.

There is tons of delicious food on the train. I won't lie; I ate as much as possible. It was so good I couldn't resist. I also remembered to drink a lot of water too. Darley is always worried about me dehydrating myself. As I fiddle with Fresian's ring on my middle finger, I wonder if she and her baby are doing alright.

My District partner, on the other hand, has already given up. We've only been on the train one hour, and she looks out of the windows glumly, like she is on her deathbed.

"Eat something Palomino," I tell her. It is incredibly weird to use her full name. It is even weirder to look at her, especially from the side or back, because she looks almost exactly like my sister at that angle.

"He is right," the Capitol Trainer says, appearing suddenly out of no where. He carries a roasted chicken and some wonderfully smelling noodles, which he deposits in front of us. I know he wants us to eat those kinds of food because they contain protein and carbs, which will help us get ready for the Games. It is like stuffing a pig so it gets nice and fat for butchering.

"There's no point," Palomino says. Her milky brown hair is out of their pigtails and in an unruly mess. On her ashen pale face, her freckles stand out like little stars. She doesn't even have a token. I wonder if anyone had visited her at all.

"Try," The trainer nudges the noodles towards her. His voice sounds like a gentle thunderstorm, the kind that wets all the stones in the mountain but leaves you feeling refreshed. He picks up a device, which he turns and causes crushed aromatic herbs to drop onto the noodles. Palomino is intrigued, and eventually gives in. She starts munching on the food.

"My name is Nemo," Our mentor says with a smile.

"Roan," I tell him.

"I know," He says. Unlike Alabaster, Nemo's long hair is thick and shiny. It is the kind of thick midnight black you can't get from dyes. I've seen Alabaster eye it jealously.

I realize it is Nemo's eyes that reminded me of the snarling district nine male tribute. They both have dark eyes that turn upwards, in a permanent smile (though the D9 tribute was definitely snarling).

"I'm here to help you two survive," Nemo tells us. Palomino's snort tells him how unlikely she finds that to be. Undaunted, Nemo asks me what my skills are.

"I can use a knife, a staff, a slingshot and a lasso," I list the skills Darley and I put together, "But I'm really just good with the slingshot and the lasso. I've only used knifes to gut animals, and the staff I've never tried to use in a fight at all."

"That can be fixed in training," Nemo says, he looks pleased about my chances and that cheers me up. He considers my options a bit, "How good are you with the slingshot and the lasso?"

"I can hit a rabbit 200 feet away, accurately." I tell him, "The lasso I'm only good with close ranged. Maybe 25 feet, no more." But being able to pull something from 25 feet away is still a pretty impressive feat. I've been using ropes since I was small.

"Good. You can keep those skills a secret. Don't even try to demonstrate them in practice, just focus on learning the knife and spear. Palomino, what are your skills?"

We both look at her expectantly.

She moans, "I can only cook!"

My sister would have better chances after all. At least Mino's slingshot aim is even better than mine.

"Well that's a good thing," Nemo pats her back consolingly; "You can start fires, can't you?"

"Yeah," She said, "If I want everyone to spot me and get myself killed!"

"Don't worry, you'll be fine if you have some powerful allies," Nemo lies to her. I have no idea how she'll get allies, but suddenly I have an idea.

The careers. Every year they group together and hog all the supplies. They hunt together like a pack of wolves. But what if ALL the other tributes allied together against the careers? 18 against a mere 6. There are only three career districts, so the rest of us will outnumber them 3 to 1. Even a small group of buffalos can intimidate a lone wolf. It is safety in numbers. We'll become the hunter, not the prey.

But that's impossible, what are the chances of everyone else being willing to be in an alliance? From what I saw, the sickly kids of six and eight have already given up. They will be no use in the arena anyways. The District 7 lumberjack kids are too proud, and the District 9 grain kids are too angry. I don't even know what District 11 and 12 are like because I didn't see their reaping. My only chance is with District 5, but the two redhead siblings are victor's children. They probably have their own plan. Besides who will trust me? I'm just some herder from District 10, a district that never produced even one victor in the games yet.

Nemo is still trying to cheer my District partner up. As the setting sun fall on his skin, I notice that it is a natural dark red-brown colour. It is almost the same shade my hair. Our representative is probably jealous about that too, another reason why he is avoiding us. The light glints off the multiple piercings on Nemo's ears. One of them is the emblem of District 10, as solidarity to us I guess. For some reason, he is also wearing the emblem of District 9, the grains people. But there are no Capitol emblems anywhere. Interesting.

Palomino is inconsolable. I think she is pretty much convinced she will be murdered right away, though she is not crying anymore. She is even eating a little. I can see her pick up the pace as she notices how delicious the food is. We've never had anything like the flavours and aromas available here back in District 10. Even our District bread can't compare. I've would have been really excited about how fine everything was if I wasn't heading towards certain death.

"I wonder how they made this lamb," Palomino says between mouthful of food, "I taste rosemary and custard, but there's more." I've tried the lamb too; it is perfect and flavourful—juice spills onto your tongue when you take a bite. My mother is a pretty good cook, and I can tell Palomino is too, but I have no idea how the capitol makes such excellent food.

Partially, it must be due to the quality of their ingredients. I mean, the Capitol can pick and choose the finest cut. Back at home, we can only eat the toughest meat, even though I know this lamb was bred and raised in District 10. The finest, most tender animals gets shipped straight to the Capitol. It's snatched from us before we can even take a second glace.

"I wish I could ask the chef for the recipe. Maybe I can make it at home." Right after she says that, Palomino realizes she probably won't be coming home, and almost tear up again. What she said gives me an idea.

"Wait, if you cook, you must be able to handle a cleaver right?" I ask her. I mean, it takes a lot of strength to chop up tough, raw meat. Iron pots weigh a ton too. From what I can see, Palomino seems to have some strong arm muscles.

She widens her eyes, "Yes, I can!"

"And, if you can use a cleaver you can probably use an axe or a knife," Nemo said. I see hope slowly beginning to glitter in Palomino's eyes. She clutches the table tightly.

We talk more about Palomino's strategy for what's left of the afternoon. Nemo thinks she should keep her knife skills hidden as much as she can. After the amount of fuss she made, being reaped and dragged to the platform while crying, most people will probably be overlooking her as a contender. She could use the element of surprise to her advantage. While we talk, the train glides smoothly as it carries us closer and closer to the capitol. The cargo trains, which I sometimes used to ride on with the cattle as we transport them to market, are much rougher and jumpier. I'm not used to how even Capitol transportation is. It is dark when Nemo says, "We'll talk more tomorrow. The recap of the Reaping is almost on. We need to study the other tributes."

Nemo turns on the large television and we settle down on a leather coach that stretches the entire length of the compartment. Probably a dozen cows died for it to be made. It is the finest, softest leather I have ever felt. I wonder how many hours a tanner spent curing and dyeing it. With a jolt, I realize my parents at home will soon be finding out that I'm in the Hunger Games. There is no way Fresian has made it back to the ranch yet, especially if he has to lead Cyclops at the same time.

Alabaster, a gloomy expression on his face, eventually wanders back into our compartment to watch the recap. He crosses his arms and sits far away from us. The program hasn't started, so I decide to ask Alabaster what his problem with us is.

"Do we stink or something?" I ask him. I'm usually less sarcastic, but it's amazing what being reaped for the Hunger Games does to your disposition. Plus I don't see why he is the one moping, when it is Palomino and I who are going to die in the next week or so.

Alabaster widens his incredibly green eyes, "Excuse me?"

"I mean, why are you sitting so far away from us?" I ask him, "Aren't you supposed to be our district representative? Shouldn't you show some support?"

He crosses his arm some more and huffs. He is embarrassed for some reason. I tap my feet patiently, and Palomino looks at Alabaster questioningly. I expected Capitol citizen to treat us District people like entertaining animals, but I don't see how the District representative could afford to act like that. Besides, he had no qualms patting my sister's pregnant stomach earlier.

"Well," Alabaster uncrosses his arms and cross them the other way, "Since you _politely_ asked, you are the ones who seem to hate me."

I raise my eyebrows. Really? Well, okay maybe I stepped on his hair on purpose earlier, but that's it.

"You totally ignored me every time I tried to talk to you!" Alabaster points at Palomino. Maybe she ignored him because she was upset that she was going to die? I don't know.

"And you!" Alabaster points at Nemo, "Your hair is too nice! And you politely tolerate me. I _hate_ being politely tolerated!"

Nemo reacts to the accusations with much calmness. I realize that he has a countenance like a particularly kind stone. Maybe that makes him a good fighter. Ever the peace mediating trainer, Nemo raises a hand in truce, only to be rejected by Alabaster shouting, "See, you are doing it again! You are politely tolerating me!"

"What's the big deal about being politely tolerated?" Palomino asks, confused.

"Well," Alabaster fumes, "He acts all polite and nice towards me, but inside I just know he is judging me! With his naturally nice hair and skin, for some reason I feel like a ridiculous monkey standing next to him!"

Hmm, I wonder why. Alabaster with his floor length aqua hair and white marble coloured skin? I don't tell Alabaster that I think most Capitol people look like ridiculous monkeys in the first place. The train is probably bugged and I'd get forced to squat on my spurs for a comment like that.

"I do not judge people. I take them as they are", Nemo says, wisdom just pouring from his mouth like steam from a hot spring,

"POLITE TOLERATION AGAIN!" Alabaster throws his hand into the air, frustrated.

"Do you want him to ply you with compliments or something?" I ask him.

"YOU!" Alabaster directs all his fury towards me now, "You are the worst!"

I actually gape a bit at this. No one has had a problem with me in my life, not that they would say to my face, of course.

The white skinned representative continues his rant, "I swear you are just some little cow herding brat. Just because you volunteered you think you are the golden boy or something. Every time I try to be nice, you act like you are smarter and better than me! Even if I try to help, you won't let me."

In my defense, I _am_ probably smarter than him, I cross my arms. Palomino looks more than a little offended by Alabaster. I can't believe I have to deal with this when I have to be put into a life and death situation in a week.

"Take a deep breath," Nemo tell the representative, patting his shaking shoulders. After a while, Alabaster calms down enough.

"Now tell us what is really wrong," Nemo says sagely.

Alabaster breaks into tears, "I JUST WANTED TO WORK FOR DISTRICT TWO! WHY DO I HAVE TO WORK FOR LOSERS LIKE TEN?"

"I know how that feels, do not worry," Nemo tells him. From his expression, he does not know how it feels, but in his stormy voice, everything he says sounds genuine. He is spending all of today consoling people.

Alabaster sobs some more, covering his face with perfectly manicured fingers, "There was an opening—hic—they gave it to that Arthurus bastard—hic—I worked so hard!" He runs hiccupping from the compartment. None of us chase after him because the reaping recap will start any second. We give each other looks.

"I don't understand why he is the one with all the problems," I was fuming.

"Roan," Nemo shakes his head, "The truth is you guys need him. He is from the Capitol, he knows what the people want. He can make you guys into stars. If the people love you, Capitol will want you to win. Be nicer to him and listen to his advice. Alright?"

He directs that last bit to me. I want to retort that I wasn't taking any stupid advice from long haired Capitol freaks, but I take a deep breath and calm down.

"Fine," I say. I have to be the mature one. I've always been the mature one.

Five minutes later, during the announcers pre-recap chatters, Alabaster returns. His face is free of tears, although he is wiping at his eyes theatrically with a delicate white hankie.

"I am sorry for that outburst," He says, "I was just having mood swings. I should not be so selfish." Alabaster sniffs apologetically (but slightly pompously) and sits down on the couch, right next to Palomino. She looks like she barely prevented herself from scooting away.

"I hope you help us look and perform our best for the Capitol," I can't believe the words coming out of my own mouth; "I have faith in you, despite how I acted earlier." Yeah, blind faith.

Alabaster though, falls for my pathetic apology and straightens up, "Don't worry. I will make District 10 into stars and all the other Districts will be so jealous."

"Not too jealous," Nemo reminds him, "We don't want them to be speared right off the bat." I think after his matter-of-fact statement both Palomino and I experience blood draining from our faces.

"By the way, it was brave of you to volunteer earlier." Alabaster says like we've been buddies forever. He must forgive people really easily.

I shrug, "I couldn't. It—my little brother." To my shame, my voice cracks. I start crying a little bit. I've been great at pushing my family out of my mind up, but now I start remembering everyone. Fresian, making loon calls across a lake on a warm autumn day. The piles of blood red maple leaves on a ground make a plush path for our feet. Darley, smacking me with a towel when I trailed mud into the house. I had been exhilarated after staying on top of a bull for five seconds and forgot to wipe my boots. The wide, face splitting smile on Mino's face when she rode her own horse. Fresian and I saved our earnings for months. Morgan tumbling out of a moving cart while tussling with Shire. Shire had cried while Morgan comforted his twin brother. I bandaged his bleeding elbows.

"Are you okay?" Alabaster asks, peering closely at my face. Dammit, that the worst, dumbest question to ask a crying person. I'm crying. Of course I'm not okay! I'm going to die and never see my family members again. I didn't even properly say goodbye. I'll miss the birthing of calves later this year. His question makes even more tears come out.

Oh stupid, I tell myself, you didn't even cry when you volunteered, don't cry now. Palomino, who did tear up when she was reaped, looked at me as if she didn't know what to do. Nemo seems to know the correct path of action is to leave me alone.

Stop it right now, I order myself, but the tears still collect, trails down my cheek and drips onto my lap silently. I bow my head in my hands. I'm suddenly marveling at how beautiful the carpet is. Anything to distract myself.

Alabaster timidly hands me his hanky. Which I stuff right against my eyes to stop my over active tear glands. Cowboy up, I tell myself, if this Capitol guy stopped his crying in five minutes, I can do so much better. Cowboy up.

Soon, I sit back up with my face clear of tears. But I have a fuzzy feeling in my head, and my heart aches like more tears are going to come later.

Luckily the reaping recap starts and I lose myself by planning how to stop the other tributes from brutally murdering me in the arena.

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><p><strong>It's a long chapter this time. Ah, is anyone even reading this anymore? Is the pace moving too slow?<strong> **In two chapters is when the real excitement begins, I swear.**


	5. Grains from husks

**CHAPTER 5_part 1**

There is no perfect formula for winning the Hunger Games. A lot of everything has to do with chance and circumstance. For example, some years, tributes get more brutal competitors, and some years, tributes get more brutal arenas. This is one of those years when all the tributes are so totally brutal, it is not even funny.

Nemo asked a silent servant to give us a notepad and a pen. I stare at the notepad; I don't think I've seen so much fine paper in one place. Back in District 10, we just used erasable chalkboards in school. Paper was too much of a waste of money, even for my moderately well-off family.

Our trainer makes a little chart on the page. "We have to weed out the husks from the grain," He tells us. That is a saying that means the good Tributes has to be separated from the bad Tributes. That way we can know who to watch out for in the arena. I wonder how Nemo, a Trainer from the Capitol, knew how to use District 9 slang with such ease. I notice that he is also wearing a small, metal District 9 emblem on one ear. I'll have to ask him about that later.

The District 1 career tributes are show on screen. The girl, Opal, who wrestles several others for the honour to be tribute, is extremely big. She reminds me of a rodeo bull. I don't mean that she is that fat. She is just so tall and so very muscular that she will probably be bigger than all the other tributes this year. Her being tribute is strange for the luxury district, where usually slim, blonde and beautiful girls with a penchant for dangerous sharp things are offered up as tribute.

The district one's boy doesn't look that impressive standing next to Opal (she towers over him with her bulk and he is completely in her shadow). He actually fades into the background, with his pale sun bleached hair and baby pink skin. Though I'm sure it is just a ruse, his hard blue eyes glints dangerously and tells another story. I find it funny that his name is Chisel.

"Watch out for that boy," Nemo says.

"He looks so secretly cunning," Palomino shudders.

"But really though, what kind of name is Chisel? What kind of parents would name their child Chisel?" Alabaster asks. Unfortunately, he doesn't see the irony in his statement.

Both Chisel and Opal gets place into the 'watch out' category, along with the District 2 tributes.

The girl tribute for District 2 is no doubt the most gorgeous person I have ever seen in my entire life. My sister Mino is pretty, Darley is beautiful, but this girl is dead gorgeous. At eighteen years of age, she resembles a women more than a girl. With her mass of lush, dark hair and sensual green eyes, I know the Capitol will fall heads over heels for her (especially after she pouts and blows a kiss at the camera). Alabaster sighs and dramatically shakes a fist towards the roof of the train compartment. I guess he is even bitterer now for not getting a position in District 2.

The district 2 boy whom I thought looked a lot a Fresian is named Ajax. He has a build similar to my brother's. He is tall and stocky, with wide, strong shoulders. His large arms are as big as some of the lifters I've seen around District ten, who physically pushes stubborn bulls onto loading trains. Ajax has short red hair and brown eyes just like Fresian, but that is where the similarities end. The way he stands is so proud, and his face wears a smirk with ease, like he is picturing our deaths already.

In District three, the girl goes into the 'husks' category. She is sickly and skinny that her knees stand out like knots in a rope. Her skin is the sickliest, pale pallor I've ever seen. She is a skeleton. I keep worrying that a strong wind would blow her off the platform.

"Omigod," Alabaster says, "I'm like so jealous of her slenderness and her skin colour!" Even peaceful Nemo looks a bit offended at that comment. We move on.

The boy, Chip, is eighteen, but looks younger. He is intelligent and seems to be thinking of a plan. His bright eyes darts back and forth beneath his glasses. Like his district partner, Chip is pale and has dark black hair. The contrast is very striking. We put him into the 'others' category, because he doesn't seem to be dangerous, but could potentially be so.

District four is immediately placed in 'dangerous'. The girl is one of the mayor's many children, so she probably has the best training available. As she hops up to the platform as tribute, her father the mayor stands up and claps loudly, a proud smirk on his face. The girl is called Anne de Maisonverte, and she has orange braids and freckles. Her build is not big but she seems smart and dangerous. Anne looks extremely keen and observant. I predict her to be more dangerous than any of the other career tributes.

"She moves like a real fighter," Nemo says approvingly. That doesn't make Palomino and I feel so good.

"I like her hair," Alabaster says, "But carrot orange was totally last spring."

The boy of District four is much bigger than Anne. He, for some reason, is not wearing a shirt. Maybe he forgot it was Reaping day. Maybe he lost it, I'm not sure. The well toned abs and biceps of his bare upper body are broadcasted to all of Panem. Are the women of the Capitol screaming in glee right now? I don't know, but Alabaster is certainly squealing. As the tribute struts up to the platform with a playful grin, everyone in four gives him a loud cheer. He and Anne high five. They must know each other from training.

The tragically doomed siblings of District five goes in 'dangerous' right away. Their parent, who was a previous winner, must have trained them. Surely he knew by now that relations of past winners are huge rating boosts when they appear in the Games. The whole reaping was probably rigged for their names. The boy, who is the older brother, hugs his sister sadly. She hugs him back, but looks livid all the same. She is only around thirteen, but gives the aura of a fierce cat, like she wants to claw her District Representative's eyes out. Their father, who is sitting in the mentor chair, is horrified at the situation he is forced into.

Disgusting Capitol pigs.

"Their names are Torque and Amelie," Nemo says sadly. Of course, because he is a trainer, he must know the other mentors. He probably talked often to their dad. And what else does proud parents talk about but their children? I wonder how Nemo feels about coaching us to kill his friend's children in the arena.

The District six boy and girl are young. The transportation district is not as badly off as the other factory districts; they just got unlucky this year. Both of their tributes look around twelve. The boy will probably grow up to be handsome, but it is obvious he won't have the chance to. The girl is very frail looking, and she cries as she is lead up to the platform. She cries some more when no one volunteers. Their brief lives are about to be cut short.

In District seven, the pace picks up. The girl's short brown hair is in small pigtails. She seems to be doing fine, though her expression is grim. There is something about her that seems tough and stubborn. I know she can probably twirl an axe and chop down a tree with ease. She goes into the 'dangerous' category.

The boy, Pulp, looks as proud as a career. He is as big as one too. There is something about him that seems cunning, though I'd be fast to classify him as a standard logging skinhead who is all brawn and no brain. He is smiling, why?

District eight tributes both go into 'husks' right away. The girl is too timid. Her long brown hair covers her eyes, and she shies away from the camera, hugging herself. The boy has a deep rattling cough that wouldn't let up. He is scrawny and pathetic and looks dead tired. His eyes are sunken and dark. As their representative speaks, he keeps coughing and coughing. Once he coughs so hard and long, he bends right over. It is probably district 8 factories wrecking permanent havoc on his lungs. Everyone in our compartment feels bad for him, even Alabaster who looks kind of disgusted.

I really start paying attention in District nine. Especially to the snarling boy tribute who looks like Nemo. As he is called up to the stage, the boy jumps onto the platform like a graceful wolf. His face looks so angry, like he's had that expression on it his whole life. There is barely restrained fury behind his shaking fists. Even their district representative feels the tension and looks scared of him. On the clear, sharp television, it is obvious to all of us how much he resembles our trainer. With sharp cheekbones and red-brown skin, it is like we are watching at a younger, angrier version of Nemo with short hair glare at us through the cameras. Palomino and I stare discreetly at Nemo's face to see if he reacts. He doesn't.

"So his name is Farro, huh," Alabaster tries to get Nemo talking, "It rhymes with sparrow, doesn't it? But he is so angry looking. He doesn't resemble a sparrow in nature at all. More like an angry big wolf. Farro the Sparrow Wolf." He says the last part a little sadly.

I frown. I don't think anyone can be as unhelpful as Alabaster is. If Nemo is related to this young tribute, he would have been offended at the 'Farro the Sparrow Wolf' comment, wouldn't he? But he doesn't react. His countenance is like stone. But was it just my imagination, or did he look kind of grim at Farro's last name? I consider our capitol trainer more carefully. He is older than thirty, but it is hard to tell age with the people from Capitol. The snarling tribute on screen, who has his eyes, might be a brother or a son.

The girl tribute for district nine looks strong. Her shiny black hair curls messily around her head. She is tall, and like Farro, very graceful. The two shake hands, but from the girl's wince, Farro's grip was too tight.

In out District, Palomino's crying face shows up big on television. The camera zooms too close and her red, puffy face is unflattering. Palomino looks ashamed at her own tears as she watches on the couch.

It is impossible to convey the disgust I felt, watching my own Reaping. Again I had to witness my younger brothers screaming and struggling. As Alabaster asked for volunteers, the cameraman close up on Fresian slowly raising his hands. But then my loud, frantic shouts capture their attention. I show up front and center on the screen. The similarities between me and my younger twin brothers are undeniable. I am relieved that I looked strong and courageous as I stood on the platform, though now I am stooped and shaking with fear as I watch the recap. On screen, Alabaster asks me my name, and I tell him. The wind makes my hair blow across my forehead dramatically.

"That was good," Nemo tells me, "You are currently breaking the hearts of every Capitol citizen watching at home."

"I can practically feel the sponsors pouring in!" Alabaster cries. But he frowns at Palomino, "We need to do something about your image though. That was a pretty weak performance. Nemo won't even be able to send you a bottle of water in the arena."

Palomino sighs and buries her head in her lap.

When District 11 shows up on screen, I am relieved. Tributes from the agriculture district usually goes one of two ways: small and weak or tall, dark and scarily big. This year, the girl was in the previous category. Despite her small stature though, she was quite cute. Extremely curly dark hair framed her olive doll like face. Her eyes were wide and big because she was frightened. She had the vulnerable kind of look that reminded sponsors of their own children, so money flies from their pockets out of pity. But no amount of sponsor will help her survive.

The simplest word to describe the boy of this district was 'dependable'. His heavyset frame and expression of deep thoughtfulness gave him a kind air. As he stepped on the platform, his face was at peace. Still, his stature would land him in the 'dangerous' category.

District twelve boy was of undeterminable age. His gaunt frame and ashen face made him look emancipated. The way he leaned backwards, it was like his body weighed too much for him to carry. His eyes looked decades older than his body. The girl, Earwig, was also just as skinny. Unlike her district partner's tired unmoving form, she was nervous and flighty. As their representative chattered, she bounced on her heels like a baby bird wanting to take flight, or like a speck of coal dust soaring in the wind. Each time she did that, her short blonde hair would flutter in the air like a feather.

"Earwig looks like a runner," I say.

"Maybe she'll take off too fast," Nemo tell me, "Then the bombs under the platform will get her."

After the recap finishes, we take a look at the list Nemo compiles of 'dangerous' and 'non-dangerous' tributes. Both Palomino and I are in the middle, the 'others' section. I notice that I am two spots higher than Palomino on the list.

"I have arranged the list from most likely to least likely to survive," Nemo tells us. I break into a cold sweat. I can see that I am pretty far down the list, and lower than midway. I count my spots. On the list of twenty-four I am on spot number fourteen, Palomino is in place number sixteen. Between us is the District 3 boy, Chip.

"Keep in mind," Nemo added quickly, seeing that Palomino was about to tear up again, "This ranking system was only based on first impressions. It could all change because I have no idea what their or your abilities are."

I grimace. Maybe I'll place higher once I show Nemo what I'm capable of? I don't know.

"Look here," Nemo explains his logic to us, "The first six the career tributes."

It is true. In spot number one, the most dangerous tribute of all belongs to a girl: Anne from District four, with her charming freckles and orange hair. Next is the district two boy Ajax, who looks like my brother-in-law Fresian. I wince.

"Anne de Maisonvete is first," Nemo says, "Because she is not only capable, she seems intelligent as well. She has the stance of a fighter and a person constantly on guard. Plus there is a high chance she uses long range weapons."

"How do you know she uses long range weapons?" Palomino asks, she looks scared.

"Just a feeling," Nemo says, "Of course, in the Hunger Games all long ranged weapon users are the most dangerous. You will never even see her attack coming. Even if you try to avoid her, she might manage to kill you from a distance. You should somehow eliminate her as soon as possible."

"Why is Fres-Ajax ranked next on the list?" I ask Nemo. Nemo presses a button on the couch that causes the television to reverse quickly. I watch silently as tributes step backwards off the stage and their death sentence on a slip of paper is dropped back into the glass balls. Nemo freezes the screen in District two. Fresian-look alike Ajax is on screen. His leering eyes peer out at us from under his red hair. Oh god, two people who look like my sibling in the Arena with me. What is this, a family reunion?

"See that?" Nemo asks us, "That is conviction. He is sure he will win. Whether he succeeds or not, it remains to be seen. Also he is extremely strong, and is no doubt capable of killing you without a weapon." I think about Fresian at home, with his huge horse wrangling arms and a wide chest from stacking hay and pushing carts. Is he capable of killing with his bare hands? Probably yes. I've seen him put a sick foal out of its misery before. He just picked up a rock and bashed it against the foal's skull, and then it stopped kicking. Killing is as simple as that. Yet when I think about the concept, I get horrified. How I can end someone's life? How can I take all of their dreams, hopes and convictions and ground it all to nothingness with a swing of a sword, or the stab of a knife? How will I kill if I know my victim's parents are watching at home, desperately wishing their child would survive against all odds? How can I kill when I know my own family has their eyes glued to the screen, watching everything I do? What if my kill is in self defence? Can I ever face my family again without them remembering that I am a murderer?

Is it more important to die and stay true to yourself, or live and die inside?

"It is good to not think too much when you are in the Hunger Games," Nemo tells me quietly.

"You are right," I agree, and so I stop thinking. I haven't noticed that my hands were shaking until Palomino places her pales fingers over mine. We clasp hands. I wish my sister Mino was here with me, but this is just as well.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 was too long so I split it into two parts. Things will start picking up in chapter seven then! :O <strong>

**This chapter was just a short introduction to all the characters in the alliance. **

**Special thanks: floopyrocks-you rock for sending me my first review! **


	6. You can't win

**AN: This chapters has more about potential allies and enemies in the arena. Exciting things starts happenning in the next chapter. **

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 6<strong>

"Next on the list, after the careers would be the District five siblings," Nemo says. As children of a previous victor, they never went hungry in their lives. Plus they probably have training already. Besides that, their father will be working extra hard to secure them sponsors in the arena. The tragedy is already enough for them to never go hungry inside the games."

"Could we try to alliance with them?" I ask Nemo. I don't know how to properly bring up my alliance idea. Will he find my plan to ally with everyone except the careers ridiculous?

Nemo thinks, "I'm not sure. They may think that you will drag them down, not to mention that they won't trust you."

"What if I get a really high score from the gamekeepers?" I ask. But then again, I realize they will trust me even less, and Nemo told me so too. I really have to actually start using my brain and stop wasting time. After all, don't I only have a week left to live?

"After the careers and Torque and Amelie, I would say next on the list to survive would be Farro from District nine. Anger is a good fuel when you are inside the Arena." Nemo said, his voice steady. Palomino and I exchange a look, the angry boy from district nine looks exactly like him and he hasn't explained that yet.

"After would be the big bruiser with a brain in District seven, Pulp," Nemo says, "Then the equally big, peaceful guy from the Agriculture district. I'm not saying that these three will actively hunt you, it is just that these boys' size and what I perceive to be their motivation and intelligence will help them survive longer in the arena. This might all change based on how skilled they are with weapons."

After this, I realized that in front of me in the list were two girls. The first was the tough looking girl from seven, whose arms look like she's been chopping down trees since she was a baby. The other girl was the graceful girl from District nine, Farro's tribute partner.

I don't ask Nemo why they are above me on the list. I trust his judgement skills, although I was starting to get very worried. It seems like I hardly have a chance at all. But then, I think, Nemo hasn't seen what I can do. And he probably just put me low on the list as a precaution. I have to prove myself.

Palomino was even worse off. I squeeze her hand as she looked at the list. She ranked sixteenth, and the tributes after her were typical canon fodder—the young ones from seven, the boy with the cough, the jittery girl from twelve. I thought she should at least have ranked up there with the tough brunette from seven and Farro's tribute partner, but she probably lacked conviction that those two had.

"Watch out for the boy from three," Nemo tells us, "Chip was his name, I think. He looks like he has a plan. This might be the year a tribute wins because of strategy and intelligence." Nemo stares us straight in the eye. Palomino and I were both tired from a long, difficult day, but we hung on his every word. Only a week left. There is no time to reiterate anything.

"I can't stress enough," Nemo says, "In the arena, cunning is as important as strength." We keep this in mind.

"Also," He continues, "Here is the strategy as it is now—stay away from the careers, kill the long distance fighters first, stay away from the district five siblings, find water, find shelter. And most importantly," Nemo beheld both of us, "Make the Capitol fall in love with you." Nemo takes a step back and leaves us to reflect, done for the night. Palomino wobbles on her feet. She looks like a mess, and I know I probably don't look so good either. We are both dead tired and it is very late. I think, despite everything, I might still be able fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.

"You both should clean up for when we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow afternoon," Nemo says, "Look good for the cameras and make an impression."

This is when Alabaster snaps up from looking boredly at his cuticles. His face lights up. The representative chatters in his annoying Capitol accent, "Yes, I was totally going to talk about that. You guys seriously have to work on your images, which I am totally prepared to help you with, of course. I've brought along a whole trunk of clothing for you two!" Alabaster eyes my brown button down shirt distastefully. "Goodness, if you go out there look like that, all people will talk about is how horrible you look. I will be embarrassed. And this," Alabaster's slender white fingers pick at Palomino's unruly hair, "What do you call this? There are so many clumps I won't be surprised to find fleas in here. We _must_ to do something."

Palomino backs away, embarrassed and offended. My neck itches at the idea of wearing Capitol clothing. Alabaster looks like he was ready to whisk us away and fix us right now, but Nemo intervenes and tell us to get some sleep.

Palomino and I walk to our own compartments. Even on a train, the bedroom I was given was much bigger and luxurious than the space I have at home. I would rather go home and never feel such luxury again, than stay in all this sweetness and rot. I stare up at the moon in my nest of silk sheets and puffy pillows. I haven't closed the curtains because in this train full of maddening capitol technology, the sky was the only familiar thing.

What will I do when it is time to kill in the arena? Could I survive the experience? What if I am killed in the first minute and I don't even see it coming? I wish I knew how it will all end.

I tell myself, I am a survivor. Once in a thunderstorm, I got lost in the mountains for threes days. I returned home skinnier, but fine otherwise. I have no doubt that if I get some allies, I will last at least that long.

But what about allies? Will all the other districts actually join an alliance with me? The goal of hunting down the careers will unite us, and give us a reason to not stab each other in the back—at least for a while.

But I admit, I am too scared. Seven of the tributes whom I wanted to ally with ranked higher than me on the likely to survive list. They can kill me. The rest of them were so low on the list, they are likely to drag me down. The best way to go is to have no allies, or ally with everyone. Can eighteen people even for an alliance together? It is too much, maybe too dangerous, though we can overwhelm the careers with our sheer number. This plan has too many flaws. I am too much of a coward to put it into action. I am too much of a coward to kill.

I turn into the pillow. My eyelashes brush against its smooth, soft fabric. I just want to go home. I was so tired. I feel my mind slipping into oblivion as the train glided along, pulling us into the place of our eminent slaughter. This is crazy.

I once had a dog named Joey, who was exceptionally clever, though he wasn't a Shepparding kind of dog. He had no idea how to herd cattle, but I convinced my parents that he did, and they let me keep him. I put a bell on him and kept him close when I grazed the livestock, like a pet. When I searched for new grazing grounds, I took Joey with me. He was pretty small, but smart enough to make up for his lack of size. When bigger animals bothered him, he would drop down and play death. Sometimes, if he knew he was faster, he would run. But he never fought, because he understood that he'd never win.

One day, walking through some woods, I had climbed a tall tree to see if there were any grazing lands nearby. Joey stood guard below. I was forty or fifty feet up the big tall pine tree, when I saw the coyote. Joey could obviously smell the danger from this big animal, but he has never seen anything like it before. I saw Joey standing still in place, thinking about whether he should run or play dead. If he ran, the coyote might outrun him. If he plays dead, he'll be trapped if the big animal decides to eat him anyways. He was a cautious, cunning dog. He considered all the angles, and that was his undoing. By the time I climbed down from the tree and chased the coyote away with a few rocks, there was nothing left of Joey but some blood-spattered fur, and his bell.

Because he stood still while considering between his options, the coyote had plenty of time to open its maw and rip him apart. _That would be me in the arena if I hesitate._

At this point I was in the twilight zone between wakefulness and deep sleep. Colourful thoughts kept floating around my head, but if they were useful I wouldn't know, they floated far away before I could catch them. I saw Joey in my mind, a brief image fluttering and bouncing around in a bright meadow, then becoming a bloody pile of ash and bones.

Was he frozen in place because he was clever? Or was he frozen simply because he was terrified?

* * *

><p><strong>Haha, is anyone still reading? Next chapter will start picking up in pace. <strong>


	7. Will you?

_I was in the arena. A few tall pine trees swayed in the wind behind me, but before me was Ajax, the large tribute from District two. _

_Ajax leered at me. I was frozen in spot, and shaking so hard and I swore the ground shuddered with me. Despite all my involuntary shivers, I could not get my legs to lift and run. Ajax was carrying a razor-sharp spear; he cracked his knuckles as he stepped closer. His flaming red hair was the same as Fresians, and so was his build and height. However, my eyes were drawn to his face which towered over me. It was blurry—my mind couldn't remember how his features looked. Eventually I gave up trying to recall his face, and the district two tribute transformed into a leering version of my brother. _

'_Why don't you run?' Fresian asked me, smirking, 'Go ahead, I'll give you a head start.' _

_I wanted to say that even if I could run, he would throw the spear into my back anyways. I'd rather die seeing what killed me. But no sounds came out. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't formulate words. My voice was gone._

'_Did you really think you had a chance?' Fresian laughed long and hard. Red matter like sap began to drip from the trees. It was raining blood. _

'_I'll tell you,' Fresian sighs mockingly, 'You don't have a chance. I'll murder you now.' _

_I thought, what about your wife Darley? She is my sister. If you killed me, she'll be horrified. But you can't appeal to the logic in a dream, because there isn't any._

'_Are you ready?' Fresian asks, smiling as the bloody sap falling from the sky coated his face, 'I'm stabbing you on the count of three.'_

_I licked my lips in nervousness. I tasted the copper metallic tang of blood. I still couldn't move, even though I knew now would be a good time to shove him while he was preoccupied._

_Fresian starts counting, 'One, two-' Then he runs the spear through me. _

_Wow, I think, at least he was nice enough to stab me when I wasn't expecting it. Fresian was still considerate even when he was trying to kill me, I guess._

_But I don't die. The spear head lodged itself into a fleshy part of my torso. No lungs were punctured, no organs were speared. I was still alive and kicking. I found my voice to tell him off._

'_Um,' I said, 'If you actually want to kill me, you have to rupture an artery or something. I'm not going to just die from this. You're a herder, you should already know this.'_

Oh crap,_ I mentally hit myself_, why did I just tell my murderer how to kill me?

'_Thanks!' Psycho Fresian's face lights up. He rips the spear from my stomach and thrusts it hard into my neck._

_A river of blood, deep pain, and I wake up. _

* * *

><p>'Dammit!' I cry as I sit up in bed, tangled in the soft Capitol silk sheets. I was so glad to be able to move and talk again. I spring up from the bed, bumping into things in the dark. I'm usually more agile, but this is an unfamiliar environment.<p>

For a few minutes I am really angry at Fresian for killing me, and then I calm down as I remember that it was just a dream. My brother-in-law is back at home right now, with Darley and their unborn baby. He isn't some psychopath career tribute in the arena. I need to breathe. There are tears in my eyes.

I walk to the bathroom to wet my face and relieve my bladder. Warm water feels so good. Back in district 10, I washed with freezing cold river water, while freezing winds buffeted my wet skin. And when a herder needs to go, he goes in the bushes and tries not to squat over poison ivy.

I stand in front of the giant mirror, and try to look at myself through the eyes of a Capitol citizen. What do I see? A slight boy with blood-shot eyeballs. Unruly red hair stick out every-which way. My skin looks extremely ashen after my nightmare and black bags outlines my crying eyes. There was no way I could make an impression the way I am now.

I go back to bed and bury my head into the pillow as I weep some more. I'm going to die inside the arena.

Twilight zone again, half asleep, half awake. Voices and faces float past my head. A voice speaks to me.

_Do you know what your problem is? _

What?

_You are too clingy. You cling to your family. In the arena, there is no need to cling to anything other than your own life. You can not feel fear. You have to kill._

I…can't.

_You kill animals don't you? You have even killed cattle that you have herded for years. _

But killing cattle is different. They are food.

_It is not different. Not really. Either way, it is still killing to survive isn't it? The only difference is that cattle are twice as big._

The voice is incredibly right, I think. I am not a coward. I can. Something significant within me unwinds.

_When it comes time to do it, will you kill?_

…

_Will you?_

…

_Roan Atwood, will you kill?_

Yes. Fine. I will.

_Good. _

Then the voice goes away, for now. I sleep and I dream.

* * *

><p><em>Ajax is first. He no longer look like my brother Fresian. He is Ajax, a career tribute and an adversary in the Arena. This time, it is I who is confidently stalking towards him, holding a spear.<em>

_Ajax turns and leers at my face, 'Do I know you?'_

'_Not really,' I say nonchalantly, 'But you are about to be intimately acquainted with my spear.' I stab him through the eye. The barbed spear head tears his face apart. _

_Next is Palomino, she is trying to choke me. I place my hands on her slender neck and choke her right back. She doesn't look like my sister Mino at all. I keep my hands squeezed around her neck until her pulse flutters to a standstill underneath my fingers. Then I let her limp body drop to the ground._

_The skinny boy from three I whack with a hard wooden staff. His glasses fly right off his cracked skull. The graceful girl from nine I execute with a cattle prod. Her body shudders and her eyes roll up in her head. Farro is angry as he charges at me. His eyebrows are furrowed together. He hits me with a big whoomf, and knocks the air out of my lungs. _

'_Your father is Nemo__!' I tell Farrow. He freezes, eyes wide, and my knife buries itself up to the hilt in his neck. _

_Earwig, the flighty girl from district twelve, runs past me. I know she is the last one. I chase after her, eyes glued to her short blonde hair fluttering in the wind like a cricket's wings._

'_Stop!' I shout, 'Come back here! I need to murder you!'_

_We run around and around the arena. She doesn't get tired and neither do I. It seems like we've been running around for hours when I get frustrated enough to explode. I roar and pick up a rock. It hits the back of her head perfectly and Earwig crumples. The Capitol fanfare plays and I see my siblings waiting to escort me out of the arena. They are in the wagon we used to travel to the reaping. Darley is still in her white reaping outfit, her tummy swollen with child._

'_I won!' I tell them happily. I was practically jumping with joy._

'_Who the hell are you?'_ _My sister Mino__ frowns at me and spits into the ocean of blood pooling in the arena. _

'_Do I know you?' Fresian asks. Then he pulls on the reins. Etobicoke and Mississauga takes off into the distance. I've never seen two horse travel that fast._

_As they leave I hear Darley say dreamily, 'I think I will name my baby Alabaster. What a wonderful name!'_

_Well whatever. I coolly watch the wagon roll away. The wheels make ripples in the blood on the ground. I can just live in the victor's village_ _my horse__ Cyclops. I won't even need any of them anymore. I'm so rich now!_

_I laugh and wave my arms at the cameras. I know I will never cry again, not for anybody. _

* * *

><p>As per usual herder tradition, I wake as soon as the hint of sunlight touches my eyelids. I jump right out of bed. Usually it takes a person a few minutes to wake up, not so for me. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I run a comb through my messy hair that redeems it somewhat. I still felt somewhat disoriented, as if recovering from a disturbing dream. I couldn't remember what the dream was, but it liberated me. Even I as put on my clothes, my limbs snap around faster—as if they used to be confined in cold, slow jelly, but not anymore. I was free.<p>

Nemo was already awake and in the breakfast compartment of the train. There was food on the table. I buttered my bread and stuffed myself. Better to build reserves now than die of starvation inside the arena.

"Well, I think we should get a head start in training today," Nemo smiles as Palomino walks in, bleary-eyed. With a start I realize that she didn't look like my sister to me at all. Only the hair was somewhat similar. Yesterday, I thought she was the mirror image of Mino, but not anymore. Now she is just my fellow district tribute.

"Nemo," I say. The trainer starts. It is the first time I've deliberately talked to him.

"Yes?" He asks, leaning forward—the perfect image of a teacher being helpful.

"I have a plan for the arena, I want to hear your opinion on it," I tell him. I wasn't nervous anymore.

"Great, go on."

"Everyone's biggest threat is the careers right?"

"Yes."

"What if the rest of us all alliance together? All eighteen of us against six of them?"

A look of comprehension dawned on Nemo's face and a smile tugs at his lips. Palomino puts down her knife and pays attention to my words.

"I was just thinking," I continue, "We outnumber them three to one. We've got to have better chances that way."

"That is an intelligent plan. However, you realize that just because you will outnumber the careers three to one, it doesn't mean combined that your alliance will be more skilled."

"That's true, but is it worth a try?"

Nemo thinks about it, "It is only worth a try if everyone joins in. Weak districts like three, seven, eight and twelve will have no choice. The rest may or may not join. Especially District five. Torque and Amelie should almost be at the level of Careers. You really have to work hard to impress them enough for them to consider your offer."

"I'll give it all I've got."

Nemo smiles, "Hang on to that plan, you might have hit upon something there."

We spend the entire morning learning how to build shelter and find water. Then as lunch approaches, Nemo teaches us to wield a knife. He's taken some cleavers and steak knifes from the kitchen.

Palomino skilfully wields hers. She is extremely confident with them because she is a butcher's daughter. My plan had given her hope. Nemo laughs and tell us that we should probably rank higher on his survival list. We eat a fine lunch, and start throwing the knives around. We toss them into the beautiful mahogany wall panels of the train. Nemo praises us every time we bury a blade in the wall. We ruin a few compartments. The servants around don't say anything.

Alabaster walks in and shrieks just as Palomino's cleaver lodges itself into a door.

"What are you doing?" The representative cries, "We get off in just four hours and here you all are, desecrating Capitol property instead of getting ready for the cameras!"

Alabaster ushers Palomino away to a washroom with some keening sounds, his long aqua hair whirls behind him. Nemo shrugs and teaches me to spar. I've had some experience wrestling with Fresian, but I can tell he is taking it easy on me.

The Capitol representative returns an hour later saying, "Finally! Her face and hair is passably clean and kept!" He turns on me, "You!" I find myself dragged away by him into a washroom. He puts on gloves and attacks my face with some sort of scrubber. Then my hair is washed and dried and washed and dried again. I end up smelling like flowers, and sort of disoriented. Alabaster is a one person army when it comes to fixing appearances.

"I'm obviously not a stylist, but you should wear your hair in a sidecomb," Alabaster tells me, "That will make you more intelligent looking. And it doesn't hurt to stand out."

Yesterday I might have protested, but today I listen to him. I part my hair and comb it to one side. He drags me to his compartment, muttering. Digging through a trunk of clothing, he finally finds something he likes, and tosses them at me. I'm relieved to see the black shirt and brown pants are relatively plain and not in some crazy Capitol style.

"You take that to a slave and tell them to iron it till it creases!" Alabaster orders me out of the compartment, "Now I have to get ready for the cameras." This is still almost three hours left. Does he really need that long?

I listen to his orders and give the clothing to a meek and silent servant. She returns later with the clothing warm from the iron. I put them on and fiddle with Fresian's ring around my finger. I am getting slightly nervous. Looking into a tall mirror now, I am shocked. I seem completely different from the slightly crazed boy yesterday night. My hair looks beautiful and I wear the clothing well. I seem to be standing taller too.

"This is ridiculous," I tell my reflection, and goes to search for Nemo.

I find him braiding Palomino's hair in the living room compartment. She got to keep her blue reaping dress, though it looked recently ironed.

"A token," Nemo smiles at my district partner and braids a beautiful, dark wooden feather into her hair. She looks happy. Alabaster eventually joins us. He is wearing a dark blue suit that contrasted with his pure white skin. He rolls his eyes at Nemo.

"You know, I could have done much better with her hair than that," He says grudgingly. Nemo shrugs, good naturedly. Not to be outdone, Alabaster sews pleats into Palomino's dress, so it becomes twice as beautiful and gathers around her like a cloud. She looks like a princess. For the first time in days, she seems happy. We smile at each other.

"Remember your manners," Alabaster says, "And for goodness's sake, don't wipe your nose with your sleeve."

When we pull into the Capitol a few minutes later, the crowd cheers loudly for us.


	8. Change yourself

"Oh gosh. Oh gosh. Oh gosh." Palomino panics beside me and I tell her to take very deep breathes. We are waiting in a plain white room in the remake center, for our stylists. Palomino is panicking because there were crowds and crowds of people waiting for us when we got off the train. Some of them even tried to grab us. It was very disorienting. There were so many bright colours everywhere. I thought Alabaster was weird, but he is nothing compared to the rest of the Capitol. If anything, our representative was even…conservative. I shudder at the thought.

With the crowds of people shrieking and cameras in my face, I tried to look strong and tall. I nodded at various colourful people in the crowds. I obviously had no idea who I nodded to, but Fresian used to nod at people as a greeting and he looks cool doing it, so I did my best to copy what he does. Palomino beside me was just bewildered. I hissed at her to wave and she gave a little wave. The crowd cheered at her.

"Oh my gooooodness," I hear one girl say, "He looks so cool!"

"His hair is so pretty, do you think it's a dye? My hair is totally going to be that colour tomorrow." I hear someone else say. I swear I'm not making this up. At least I was doing something right.

The comments I heard gave me confidence, and I smiled and shook hands with more people. I hoped that someone will sponsor me. I clasped hands with at least all the colours in the rainbow and them some. How the heck do the people here manage to dye their skin?

"I totally did not make an impression," Palomino tells me, teary eyed.

"Don't worry," I say, "I heard some people say that your dress was really pretty."

Out stylist walks in then. They were tall twins wearing some sort of sweeping white robes. Their hair was sparkly and golden, the bangs swept downwards towards their chest like the tail of a shooting star. One wore it to the left, and the other wore it to the right. Their skin wasn't dyed, but they sure had tons of piercings to make up for it.

"Castor and Pollux," One of the twin brothers says. I have no idea which is Castor and which is Pollux, but I shake his hand anyways. As he moves, his hair glitters in the light. It is mesmerizing.

"We are you stylists," Say the other one, smiling kindly.

"Are you Castor or are you Pollux?" Palomino asked quietly. She was probably intimidated by their stature and flawless skin, like I was.

"Castor," The kind one says. I notice he was a little shorter and wore his bangs to the right.

"Alright, we need to get you to your prep team now," Pollux sighs and wrinkles his nose, "You are surprisingly clean for District 10 tributes. And you don't even smell that much. I guess I can work with what you have."

Palomino and I give each other a look. I am a little thankful for Alabaster's help on the train. We are then pulled away to different rooms.

Creepy looking prep assistants gather around me. I nickname them Purple, Pink and Magenta, because that is the colour of their skin. Magenta, especially, is difficult to look at for more than a few seconds.

"Oh my god," Pink says, "Your eyes are like limes. I love limes!" I back away from him. My eyes weren't food. Plus they were not even lime coloured, they were forest green thank you.

"This hair!" Magenta runs her hand through my locks, "Perfect blend of rich red and dark black! Mahogany! Cherry red! Maroon!" My hair was a dark shade of red-brown. What were she going on about?

"The side sweep is so inspired; it makes him look super intelligent doesn't it?" Purple asks his co-workers, "I bet you are smart aren't you?"

"Just a little quiet though, like a chair," Pink sighs. I notice he makes odd comparisons.

"I watched you volunteer on television. I cried! I wept! I sobbed!" Magenta says dramatically. I notice she says things in threes.

"Gosh, I wonder if we should dye half of his hair black? Like maybe a dark stripe down the middle? What do you think?" Purple asks. I notice that he depends a lot on other's opinions.

After I'm gawked over, I'm made to take off my clothes and change into a robe. They get my measurements and tsk at my skinniness. Then I lie on a bed as they painfully remove all of my body hair, and puts on an ointment and prevents it from growing for the next few weeks. I rub my hands over my smooth, hairless chin. It is such a weird sensation.

They attack my hands next. Magenta is horrified at the state of my nails, "They're cracked! They're chipped! They are uneven!"

"Your cuticles are kind of disgusting, like telemarketers," Pink shudders.

"Well he does work in the livestock district. I bet he herds animals, doesn't he guys?" Purple asks his mates.

Eventually they finish and I am thrown into a room, with my robe still on, to eat though it was not quite lunch and not yet dinner. I wonder what they did with the clothes I came in with. I still have to return them to Alabaster.

As I enjoy a decadent three course meal, Castor walks in and sits beside me.

"The opening ceremony is tonight. We need you two to look fantastic." Castor smiles kindly at me, "I have to admit that Pollux wasn't too happy to get District ten this year. He didn't know what to do with you guys, but we figured something out."

"Yes?" I ask between bites of delicious food. I remember to drink a lot of water, like Darley warned me to.

"Outfits, made entirely out of meat." Castor's eyes lights up.

My mouth drops open. Meat was food, not clothing! I can't imagine it. It is such a waste.

"Just kidding," Castor says, "That was the initial idea, then we saw you get reaped on television. That kinds of courage deserve something more special."

"What do you exactly mean?" I ask, slightly scared.

"You'll see!" Castor laughs and leaves me alone in the room.

* * *

><p>After my meal I met with the prep team again. The ceremony is in three hours.<p>

"Well I agree to keep the sidecomb, but what about dyeing his hair black?" Purple asks.

"Black stripes, black lowlights or black dots?" Magenta questions in return.

"I think he'll look ridiculous with black stripes, like a bleeding zebra that got run over with a chariot." Pink shakes his head.

"Right, and dots never end up the way we want them to anyways, right?" Purple sighs.

In the end they decide to dye tendrils of black into my hair. I actually end up kind of loving it. I feel like a Roan horse, my namesake, with its black and rich browns at the same time. The prep team puts some stuff in my hair so it doesn't get messy. Then they push me into a room. Castor and Pollux greets me, there are two boxes by their feet.

Palomino eventually shows up, looking really pretty with curled lashes and her hair piled into a bun on top of her head.

"Lady and gentlemen," Pollux tells us, "District ten is more than livestock. As the keepers of animals, you witness continual generations of life and death. That is why this year you will be wearing bones."

With a flare, Castor pulled something out of box. It is a skeletal dress made out of bleached animal bones and a sheer, white fabric. I recognize the bones of cows, sheep and even something bigger, like buffalo. Palomino gasps at the dress. It was not pretty or cute; it was stunning and deadly beautiful.

The twins help Palomino change into the outfit. The long skirt has a dozen ruffling layered and was probably made with miles of the sheer fabric. There are arms and leg bones stitched together to constrain the tulle skirt in some sort of corset like cage. Her waist was cinched by a wide belt of weaved white ribs. She wore a necklace of deadly sharp wolf teeth, ingrained with some sparkly jewel, so every time she moved, light moved with her. My favourite part was the coyote claws grasping over her bare shoulders, keeping the dress up. The claws reminded me of a predator in motion. There were jaw bones of sheep worked into the plunging neckline. The long tail bone of a wolf circled down her sheer puffy sleeves, which ends in a tight cuff.

"Wow," Palomino looked at herself in the mirror. She becomes the queen of some far away, icy land as Castor places a tiara of claws on her head.

"Don't forget the shoes," Pollux takes out tall, glass heels. Palomino can't really walk in them, but it doesn't matter. She sticks her tongue out at me happily. I grin right back. For once, District ten does not look ridiculous.

"Look here," Castor removes things out of the other box. I step into the most comfortably cut white pants I ever wore in my life. My stylists stuffed the hem of the pants into knee high boots that looked like they were made out of bones, but was actually dyed leather. The belt was a coyote's tail bone. I didn't have a shirt, but I wore a vest of wolf ribs. The ribs gave me the look of an olden warrior in armour, even though you could see streaks of my skin between the spaces. I had cuffs of hollowed out buffalo bones on my wrists and a necklace of sharp wolf teeth, just like Palomino's. My arms and most of my upper body was exposed, and I felt kind of self conscious. I was going to appear on camera after all. Pollux saw my discomfort, "Don't worry, you are not the best built tribute we've ever seen, so we've got something to cover you." I didn't even feel offended as Castor lifted a cape—no it was too big and awe inspiring to be a cape, it was a mantel—out of the box.

The mantel was long and made out of miles and miles of the sheer white fabric, just like Palomino's skirt. It billowed with the slightest movement. The fabric went across my back and over my shoulders, though it did not meet at the front. It was held down and attached to the spinal column of a wolf, bent into the right shape. Big shoulder bones of some large animal were accentuating my shoulders by rising up to a point.

"Wow this is really weird," I said. I felt tall in the outfit. It looked badass, not ridiculous like I expected it to. It was even better when I had a horned headdress of a hollowed out buffalo skull placed onto my head. My red hair peaked out under the teeth.

"Careful you don't hit me with that," Palomino stared at the horns.

"What's that?" I ask her, and playfully turn so my horns catch her tiara with a clatter. She laughs.

"Alright, let's not try to break the costumes before the opening ceremony, go sit in your chariot," Pollux ordered us. We get ushered away by the attendants.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Magenta runs into the room, "Makeup!"

"I thought you already put makeup on them!" Pollux sighs, exasperated.

"Not enough!" Magenta snaps and purple walks by, carrying a kit. She gets to work on Palomino while I stand around awkwardly.

"Don't over do it," Castor smiles. And then he walks away, "Good luck tributes."

Someone ends up putting powder on my face as well, and both Palomino and I are escorted out into the large holding room full of tributes and chariots. We find ours attached to four pure white horses. I pet them all, careful to not poke them with my mantel. They are really well behaved.

"I'm so nervous," Palomino is sitting on the seat, wide-eyed. She practices waving.

"Just give them a show," I tell her, "We don't even need to smile, we just need to look cool and fearsome."

"Can I try smiling?' Palomino asks me. She tries, but it comes out as a grimace.

"Maybe try grinning instead?"

"Oh gosh."

The only other tributes out at the time were the ones from twelve and seven. Earwig, the bouncy girl from the coal district waves at us, I wave back even though I didn't know her. She and her district partners were wearing dirty miner costumes, complete with hardhats. The idea wasn't very unique.

The two from district seven approaches our chariot. They were bored. Their costumes were made of fig leaves and didn't leave much to the imagination. It is pretty hard to _not_ look at the girl's really exposed chest. Pulp wasn't even wearing anything over his upper half at all. He had muscles to show off at least.

"Hi," The brunette girl smiles. Out of her whole body, her hair was the most covered, with a hood of fig leaves.

"Er, hello," I say. Don't look down.

"I'm Miller, my friends all call me Millie," The girl says and strokes one of our horses; "Your costumes are really pretty."

"Well I feel kind of under dressed next to you guys," Pulp huffs, "Don't you feel underdressed, Millie?"

"Oh well," Millie sighs, "I'm not going to hide behind my chariot and hope no one sees me. I got what I got."

"How are your costumes even staying on?" Palomino asks the district seven tributes, horrified.

"Glue and prayer," Millie laughs while Pulp rolls his eyes and crosses his big, muscular arms.

"Aren't you the little princess," Pulp hisses at Palomino, "Sitting up high in your little chariot and laughing at us."

"Be nice Pulp," Millie chastises him.

All the career tributes walk in at the same time. District one is in something glittery. Two wears body suits of a rocky texture. Four's costumes are made out of shimmering scales. The group see the district twelve coal miners and burst into cruel laughter.

As they pass us, the district four boy rakes his eyes over Millie. The beautiful girl from two hisses and bristles when she realizes our costumes looked better than hers.

"Well hello," The district four boy gets close to Millie, who doesn't react. I remember that he was the one who showed up to the reaping half naked. He was still half naked; maybe he just never wears a shirt.

"Back off," Pulp glares at him.

"Don't talk to me like that, I will cut your head off," The career says in the background. His red hair is slicked back.

Anne, the dangerous career from district four strides up to Pulp, "Make sure you don't stand up too quickly when you are in the chariot. Wouldn't want to expose everything to all of Capitol would you?"

"I just might, in protest," Pulp snorts. Anne chuckles and strides off. Her district partner grudgingly leaves Millie alone to follow her. It is easy to see who the boss between the two is.

"You guys look stupid," Opal, the really big girl from one tells us. She was practically bulging out of her gems studded costume. No amount of sparkles on her face made her outfit look passable.

Palomino had enough, "Oh, like you look any better."

Opal reaches a hand up, and grabs a huge chunk of Palomino's dress. Then she tears it viciously. The tulle rips easily and Palomino nearly falls out of the chariot.

"I do now," Opal tells her smugly. The gorgeous girl from district two laughs nastily. Then the careers walk away.

"Those stupid, arrogant idiots," Pulp hisses as Palomino gasps. There is a huge, jagged hole in her dress. No matter how she sits, she wouldn't be able to hide it from the cameras.

"Quick, you still have a few minutes," Millie says as more tributes walk into the holding room, "You can find your stylists and ask them for glue.

"It's no use!" Palomino cries, "We have no idea where they are!"

"The dress is too thin, we can't glue or fix that," I say glumly, "All we can do is rip all of it so it is at the same level."

Palomino sobs and we get to work. Pulp and Millie helps us rip her beautiful dress until all of it is in tatters, but at least it was in tatters at the same level.

"Cheer up, it doesn't look too bad," Millie sighs.

"The rips and the bones make you look fiercer," I say to Palomino. There is no consoling her. She felt like a princess a few minutes ago but now feels like a beggar.

I ask Pulp and Millie to help tear the back of my cape as well, so I matched with her. When we are done, piles of sheer fabrics lines the bottom of our chariot.

"Remember to smile," Millie says. The two leaves for their places.

"Oh look, we still look much better than the tributes in front and behind us," I tell Palomino. It is true. District nine is wearing clothing with various grains glued on top, so they looked like a big bowl of oatmeal. The boy Farro was livid. The girl shook rice out of her curly black hair and sighed.

District eleven was dressed like twelve, except without hardhats. District eight seemed to be wearing fancy bathroom tiles. I couldn't see beyond district seven. They were too far away.

"At least we aren't half naked," Palomino sighs. The Capitol fanfare plays and the big doors roll open. We are about to be paraded to the world.


	9. They love you

As the District one chariot rolls out, the Capitol greets them with a loud cheer. Career districts were always the easy favourites. I can just picture the smug grin on Opal's big face. District two with their skin tight, rock textured body suits got a loud cheer as well. I suppose the crowd was really excited to see the gorgeous female tribute, what was her name…Beryl? It's not like the bodysuits really hid much.

The rest of the chariots leave the holding compound in order. I saw the sick district eight boy having trouble staying upright when the horses suddenly started trotting. His district partner had to help hold him up, though she doesn't look too well herself. Their odd costume of bathroom tiles clinks against each other.

District nine's Farro is still fuming. I can feel his anger from where I stood, ten meters away from his chariot. His district partner is trying to edge away from him as much as possible, though I think if she edge away anymore, she'll fall straight off the carriage. The cheering outside at this moment has petered off, after a few disappointing district costumes. The booming voice of the announcers comments on District seven's risqué fig leaf costumes.

Our horses take off right after District nine disappears beyond the big doors. They need no cues whatsoever; they were all very well trained. I often rode wagons, so I was used to the sudden jolt as the chariot started rolling. Palamino wasn't and stumbles in her heels. She nearly falls, but catches herself by clutching my arm. This is how the Capitol cameras catch us: the Queen grasping the arms of the King, who is holding a hand up in greeting.

I am extremely stunned by the massive crowds of colourful people, standing up to cheer for us. The stadium is also lit like daylight, though it is night. I've never seen anything like it. I am too surprised to make my expression into anything resembling a smile. The camera zooms in on us. I have a detached and cool look on my face, while Palomino is wide eyed like a deer caught in the path of an arrow, but at least she is a very pretty deer. I heard an announcer's voice say, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Capitol, I have never seen anything like it! The tributes of District ten are clad in skin and bones!" The crowd roars noisily for us and my heart is pounding.

We are on all the screens now, Palomino's shredded skirts flutters with her every move, and my ripped cape flickers with every wave. On the screens, the bleached bones make us look intimidating and inhuman, shining in the beam of a thousand silvery spotlights. The rips only add to the effect. The announcer continues, "The District ten tributes are astounding the crowds! How fierce and incredibly intimidating!" Then a sudden strong wind starts to blow. I watch with amazement as the piles of shredded white fabric littering the floor of our chariot flies out into the night air. The little shreds flutter around us like large snowflakes or pieces of ash, leaving a trail in our wake. The Capitol's roar of approval is deafening. Palomino and I look at each other with amazement. We never thought this could happen. Nemo asked us to make an impression? We were certainly impressing now. Opal is probably furious, but her sabotage had ended up helping instead.

Everyone in the stands is on their feet. I take a small bow and Palomino tips her head at them. She's learning fast. The crowds start throwing flowers at us. A few lands in the floor of the chariot, but most misses us. One huge carnation lands on my mantel and I brush it off coolly. The movement is greeted with roars of laughter and approval.

We stop in front of the President's balcony, dominating the screen time the whole way. The president, a slight man with a twitchy eye and purple hair named Cecil Warden, makes a speech. I tune out most of the time because the adrenaline rush is making my ears malfunction. When the chariot finally takes us back to the compound, I am dead tired, but I am victorious.

Alabaster runs to us squealing in delight. "Oh you guys! Give me a big hug!" Alabastor crushes us both in his pearl white arms, "You were so much better than the District two! In fact you were so much better than everyone! Wait till I gloat in front of Arthurus's face tomorrow!" Castor and Pollux follow him into the room, shaking their heads.

"Whose idea was it to shred the fabric? That was brilliant! I never thought of it!" Castor laughs, and pats me on the back. Pollux shakes his head when I explain about Opal, the big District 1 bully, who ripped our costumes. Palomino tells him about how I got the idea to fix the hole by ripping everything up.

"Out of the box thinking. Very nice," Nemo tells me with a twinkle in his eye, "You kept your cool in a tense situation, and that's why you will survive the hunger games Roan."

I beam happily, but the fact that in a few days I will face my death suddenly hits me. Something must have shown in my eyes, because Nemo guides me by my shoulders to a bench and sits me down.

"Take off your costume and change into something comfortable. We'll meet on the tenth floor to talk strategy." Nemo gives me a kind but firm pat on the back, and I do what he says. The less time to think the better.

* * *

><p>After I scrub all the powder off my body, I hop into warm pajamas and dash into the living room area of the floor we were staying at. Nemo was already there, fiddling with the TV.<p>

"The shower was really weird," I tell him. I didn't dare touch most of the button in case it did something crazy, like spray a dye at me and make me some permanent green colour.

"Yes, so many functions weren't there?" Nemo smiles. I thought so too. A cowboy's shower involved only cold river water and a small bar of hand made soap.

It only takes a few minutes more for Palomino to join us. Her milky brown hair hangs down in wet strands. She hadn't bothered to dry them, what Nemo was going to tell us was much more important.

"Right now we have no way to know anything about the other tribute you wish to ally with," Nemo said, "Except the siblings pair of District five." With that he presses a button. I lean back into the soft sofa as the room goes dark and the humongous TV, the size of a wall, starts playing a clip.

Within five minutes I realize it was a condensed video of one of the first few games. In the video, the shy looking boy of district five, the power district, is quiet and makes little impression as he is reaped. Despite his age he had a small and childish stature. During training, he excelled at foraging and shelter building, but nicks his own hand with a knife by accident. He quietly talks to almost all of the tributes; some of them talk back, some of the spits at him. Despite everything, he remains considerate. In the arena he runs away quickly after grabbing a backpack. He can hide himself well. Three days later he is still alive. It is not all luck. He has been spotted at least four times, each time by one of the more dangerous, capable tributes. But every time, for some reason, they decide to let him go—they always spared his life. When I had seen this during a rerun back at home, I had wondered why this is. Why would the blood cold killers of the arena just let a weakling go like that? Was it because he had shown them kindness? That is ridiculous. One more day and finally someone hunts him down. To my surprise, the tall and wiry career, who is bleeding from a forehead wound, only asks him into an alliance. The two become allies. The quiet boy from district five helps the dangerous career forage for food. The career kills more tributes. Every time the canon sounds because of their deadly and precise alliance, the district five boy shuts his eyes and turn his head away. Eventually, only the two is left alive out of all the tributes.

As the dangerous career, who has murdered more tributes in the arena than anyone else, realizes his situation, the district five boy looks on calmly. The two faces each other in the middle of the forest in a terse standoff, and the contrast between the two is obvious. One is tall, muscled and dangerous, a bloody spear in one hand and a bandage around his head. Battle scars decorated his arms. The other is hunched over with exhaustion and comparatively small, arms skinny from no physical labour.

_Now would be a good time to run him through with the spear and win_, I think inside my head. But I already know that was not what happened.

The dangerous career turns and walks away, ending the alliance. His broad back is exposed to the district five boy, who does nothing and only stand in place. The career disappears into the distant trees, and the district five boy sits down. Within minutes, a canon sounds. The career had walked off a cliff.

The footage of the last minute is blurry—purposely edited by the Capitol to be that way. I see a figure plunge off a rocky bluff in a long winding fall onto jagged rocks below. It is unclear what really happened. But minutes earlier when I saw the look in the career's eye during the standoff, I already knew his death would be deliberate. He had jumped.

I didn't know why he did that. Maybe he felt guilty about killing all those kids and couldn't stand the thought of facing his family. Maybe he wanted to finally take some control of his life. Maybe, he became friends with the district five boy.

Whatever it was, District five had crowned their first ever victor in the games. In the interviews after, the boy raises his arms to take a triumphant bow, but his face remained quiet and sad. The camera closes up on him and the video ends. His features are burned into my eyes. It is the same sad eyes that I see in the district five siblings reaped this year. The younger sister Amelie, the older brother Torque. Both would be fighting to the death in the arena in a cruel mockery of the past. Twenty-five years ago, when that little district five boy had taken that bow, did he know that this would happen? He must have known that the gamekeepers would punish him for his kindness. The capitol pigs were cruel but they were patient, waiting until they could cut him deepest. I knew he would not be getting any sleep, keeping his eyes glued to the screens that broadcasted the games—keeping his eyes glued to his own children.

I wondered, if both of his children die in the arena, like they were likely to do, would the quiet and sad district five boy finally follow his friend down a plunge off a cliff?


End file.
